‘  know what sympathy I can have with Goethe, unless it be that of an injured author.’ This was the truth, but it was evidently a little more than sympathy he felt. In the whole I stayed an hour and a half with them, and Lord Byron asked me to spend some days,—an invitation I, of course, felt no inclination to accept, in his present circumstances; and when I came away he left me at his gate, saying he should see me in America in a couple of years. Bologna, October 24.—Of the society of Bologna I can have, of course, no right to speak; but the two evenings I have been here I have spent happily, and among as cultivated and elegant persons as any I have met in Italy. My introductions were to but two houses: to the Abbe Mezzofanti, who is absent,. . . . and to Mad. Martinetti. To her I owe two very happy evenings, which I shall always remember with grateful pleasure. Count Cicognara gave me a letter to her, and she immediately told me that her house, which is one of the finest palaces in Bologna, would be open to me every evening. She is still young, not above thirty, I should think, very beautiful, with uncommonly sweet and engaging manners and talents, which make her at once the centre of literary and elegant society in Bologna, and the friend and correspondent of Monti, Canova, Brougham, and many others of the first men of the times we live in. Last evening there were few persons at her coterie. Only two or three men of letters, a young Greek from Corcyra, a Count Marchetti and his pretty wife, Lord John Russell, and a few others. The conversation was chiefly literary, and so adroitly managed by Mad. Martinetti as to make it general, but as two of the persons present were strangers it began to fail at last, and she resorted to the very games we play in America to keep it up, and with her wit and talent kept us amused till after midnight. This evening it was a more splendid meeting, though still quite informal. She gave a concert, at which were present all the guests of the last evening, many of the Bolognese nobility, Prince Hercolani and his family, the Cardinal Legate, who is Governor of the Province, etc, etc. M. Martinetti, who was in the country yesterday, was likewise there, and I found him a well-informed, pleasant man; but still he was not the charm that made his house the pleasantest in the city. The Cardinal is about sixty, as much a man of the world as I have seen. He thought it necessary to talk to me of America, and showed rather a surprising ignorance on the subject; though when I put him upon singers and operas, he was as much at home as a horse
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